


turn my studies down

by ratherembarrassing



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherembarrassing/pseuds/ratherembarrassing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem is this new librarian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	turn my studies down

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this gifset: http://huntersclarington.tumblr.com/post/38171336222/au-santana-tried-to-impress-the-new-school
> 
> artie’s dream au, but not really. i think in a world without the glee club, santana might have come through high school a little differently. brittany’s still got a big mouth, so everyone knows the slutty cheerleader likes a little v on the side, but she’s just a cheerleader, right, and if she lets the footballers watch every now and then so they leave her alone, so what? (basically, think season 1 santana without the angst because people think it’s still a joke, but basically, she gets to bang all the ladies and no one cares. she still has no game, though.) as for rachel, idk, just imagine she went to another school and was a year above them all or something. logic doesn’t apply here
> 
> [originally posted dec '12 for han's birthday]

She’s not paying any attention to what Quinn’s saying, which is nothing new, but today it’s apparently annoying her captain.

“Can you stop staring, please?” Quinn hisses, tossing a piece of balled up paper at Santana. “You’re going to get drool on my notebook.”

They’re supposed to be studying. Santana doesn’t see the point, they’ve both been accepted into college, and short of totally flunking out, they’re set. But Quinn wants more scholarship money—Santana has no idea why, her dad is loaded—and apparently for Santana that means not cruising through her final semester on her natural charm and wit.

The problem is this new librarian.

No, wait, let her explain. The  _hot_  new librarian.

Maybe most people don’t see it, with the knee-length skirt and the buttoned collar, the nerdy glasses and the old lady bun. But Miss Berry is  _banging_. Santana caught her bending over to pick up a book one day and she’s been obsessed ever since.

 _The woman wasn’t wearing any underwear_.

“I am not,” she says, and Quinn looks up from her textbook.

“What?”

“I’m not going to get drool on your notebook. God, I’m not a neanderthal.”

Quinn looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “Sweetie,” she says in that bitch tone she has, “I said that five minutes ago.”

So maybe she was staring a little.

She scratches at her chin, and,  _ew_ — she pulls her hand away, and there’s a bit of drool on her fingers.

Quinn snickers as she goes back to her book, and Santana wipes her chin as discretely as possible.

…

“Do you think if I dressed like a dork she’d freak out less when I hit on her?”

“What makes you think she’s going to freak out?” Quinn slams her locker closed. “For that matter, what makes you think I want to know about this?”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Q, I won’t tell anyone you get wet at the thought of me touching girl parts.”

“That’s disgusting.  _You’re_  disgusting.”

“And yet you didn’t deny it,” she sings, waving goodbye as she breaks away to head in the direction of the library. It’s warm today, maybe Miss Berry—and why is it so hot that she goes by something so unevolved as  _miss_ —isn’t wearing a sweater.

…

Cheerios are done for the year, because not a single McKinley sporting team made it to Championships and Coach Sue is busy polishing her eighth consecutive Nationals trophy, so they’re free to roam the halls dressed as mere mortals for their final few weeks of high school.

She finds an old skirt that she used to wear to Church when she was about fourteen, and her eighteen year old ass looks  _amazing_  in it, even if it covers the best part of her legs. The sweater’s a little more difficult, until she does some shopping at the embarrassing end of her mom’s closet.

The headband is all her own.

…

“Are you running for office?” Brittany asks when she gets to school.

She smirks at that, striding in the direction of the library. “You’re talking to the future-President of Miss Berry’s Pants.”

“But Miss Berry wears skirts.”

“Not for long,” she says, and Brittany snorts out a laugh.

…

“Can I help you?” Miss Berry asks, and Santana totally blanks on the lines she’d prepared.

“I, um.” Oh shit. Drunk cheerleaders come to her, she’s never actually had to work for this. “How about we, um.”

Miss Berry looks up from behind her computer. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she groans, stepping back from the desk. “Uh, thought I had a book emergency. But that’s not a thing.”

She doesn’t exactly flee, but.

…

“You’re pathetic,” Quinn spits. They’re in the library again.

It’s nearly finals, and she’s probably going to fail because every afternoon they sit in here—Quinn studying, Brittany drawing unicorns—and she gets nothing done. Then Miss Berry tells them they’re closing soon and she goes home and takes care of—

“Shut up,” she snaps, and slams her book shut. “Just because the only fun happening between your legs is when you get a yeast infection, doesn’t mean the rest of us want to end up dry and crusty down there.”

Quinn looks like she’s about to burst a blood vessel, but before she can find out Santana shoves her book in her bag and leaves with a, “bye, Britt,” tossed over her shoulder.

She’s not looking where she’s going, too busy shoving the rest of her things into her bag properly, and then every teen romcom cliche jumps up and bites her in the ass, her things falling to the floor between where she and Miss Berry collided.

“Oh, it’s you,” Miss Berry says, and could this possibly get any worse? “The girl who likes to look at my ass.”

Yes, yes it could.

“Here,” she continues, “let me help you with that.” And then she crouches down and, yeah, Santana’s pretty sure she’s still not wearing any underwear, but that’s really not the point right now. “Could you at least help? This is an awful lot of stuff you have here.”

Santana kneels down, shoving the scattered items into a pile and taking hold of half the bag to hold it open. Of course there’s like every embarrassing thing you could think of just sitting on the floor between them beside her notebooks—tampons, a dental dam, three speeding fines, and a pair of underwear. Also a screwdriver. Don’t ask.

Miss Berry picks up the screw driver, probably because it’s the least disturbing of the remaining items, and drops it into the bag. “Are you even going to apologize for running into me?”

“Oh,” Santana says, trying to remember how to make words. “I’m sorry.”

“That was very convincing,” Miss Berry says, handing Santana’s bag over. She scoops up the rest of the items on the floor, shoving all but one into the bag. She holds up the dental dam, and Santana’s face feels like its on fire. “Do you actually know what to do with this?”

“Uh, yeah?” she chokes out, not at all sure where this is going.

Miss Berry stands up, leaving her on her knees with her bag held open. “Graduation’s next week. I think you might have an overdue book the day after.”

And then she tosses the little package into the bag, turns on her heel, and disappears behind the stacks.

She sits there stupidly on the floor, because she hasn’t borrowed a damn book in over six months, until some blood manages to redirect itself to her brain, and  _oh_.

See? She doesn’t have to work for this.


End file.
